


Wednesday

by extrasystem



Series: Days of the Week [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alley Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Swearing, peter & reader are around 20, sex with a masked stranger lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22474309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extrasystem/pseuds/extrasystem
Summary: A masked superhero, clad in red and blue, has you wrapped around his finger; you, with good faith, would not be able to deny that the skirt crumpled at your waist isn’t a result of your foolish affection either. You don’t even know his name.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Tom Holland (Actor)/Peter Parker/Reader
Series: Days of the Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779277
Comments: 7
Kudos: 169
Collections: Peter Parker Is Everything





	Wednesday

It’s Wednesday. 

The balmy ray of Summer and a New York afternoon have marked your skin a pretty gold tint under the slight sheen of sweat that looks like it could be from walking a mile or two — anything remotely innocuous.   


But _anything remotely innocuous_ is quite the opposite of the honest-to-god sins you’ve acted upon.   


Your saliva slick mouth involuntarily parts into a silent gasp, your polite knee-length skirt tucked over your wavering hips that threaten to buck any second. Despite your ardent efforts to resist this… _occurrence_ from proceeding time and time again, you find yourself bent at an uncomfortable angle, forearms roughly pressed against the rough brick texture in front of you, face tucked into your right elbow and in pointy heels nonetheless. It’s difficult to find a method to justify the awkward stance in a shaded alleyway where someone with an urge to get home quicker could easily stumble upon the two.   


A low curse can be heard behind you as the repetitive push and pull motion sends a sharp signal of pleasure that leaves your fingers feeling numb and the base of your throat raw. Then, all of a sudden, it’s easy to remember why you’ve allowed for this pattern to continue since the beginning of your three-month internship under Dr. Banner.  


"Wait, there," you whisper hoarsely, following the breathless moan when the masked figure shifts closer, snapping his hips until he’s completely pressed against you; a filthy grind that has you twitching from your core out, a familiar hand clothed in red latex cups your jaw in a gentle fashion.   


Spider-Man, as you’ve come to know through the media and the reoccurring fuck, is selfless, a part-time superhero and a bit reckless. Hence, the reason why he’s more than likely taking you apart behind a dirty building at 4:19 pm, hotly whispering into your ear as he tilts your chin toward the exposed lower half of his face.   


Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his wet lips on the shell of your ear. "Is this 'kay?"  


His words are almost lost at the feeling of his other hand slipping from your lower back and between your inner thighs where, as time passes, feels like a growing inferno. Gloved fingers hover, swirling the swollen bud. Your favourite masked vigilante shifts his hips back and lightly grasps your bare hip to a higher angle.  


"Hmm?" He prompts, dragging the savoury feeling of his member with him, "'Need you to say something, bug."

The only thing you can find yourself to do is nod feverishly. His fingers move quickly, regaining speed while he resumes his thrusts. It’s slower than before but feels deeper and further overwhelming, leaving your breaths short and skin bruised in the finest way. Your left arm, all indented with the sharp ridges from the dark brick in front of you, red and blotchy, palms at the surface of your lower stomach. If you force your eyes shut long enough, there isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’d be able to feel him, pulsing and demanding.   


And…  


It’s Wednesday at 4:31 pm and you’re getting fucked by an Avenger whose name you _still_ don’t know. 

Queen’s neighbourhood hero is growing impatient and needy, more so than a few moments previously, and is driving into you with more force. A particularly rough push forces your hands to instinctively grasp at the building mere centimetres from your nose. 

The both of you groan in cacophony, the sudden jolt in your body temporarily pausing the vile sounds that flood the alleyway. The masked man behind you shudders, resuming the melody of damp skin against another. His fingers, momentarily paused, proceeds at an almost frantic like pace.   


All at once, a rushed wave of ecstasy and euphoria drowns any other thoughts. You don’t hear it, but a series of strangled moans and whimpers pour from your mouth in tides. A stray tear runs down the curve of your cheek, only stopped by a chaste kiss on the underside of your trembling jaw. 

The spider-inspired defender gasps wetly at the clenching feeling around him. He curses, swiftly pulling out.

He twists you around, hurriedly, responding to the dazed, confused expression on your face.   


"I.. I wanna see you," He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.   


You want to laugh at the irony of it all, yet the smooth press of him pushing into you for the second time today quickly silences your nonexistent laughter. For what must be the hundredth time this afternoon, your mouth falls agape and he’s completely buried inside you. 

A minute swear leaves your rosy lips until his rapid thrusts renew once more. You’re blinking rapidly as a weak attempt to keep your eyes open — to _see_ a glimpse of what the hero in front of you will allow you to catch. His mask is messily shoved halfway up his face, folded along the bridge of his nose and maybe if you were bold enough you would ask him to throw the damned thing away. 

But maybe, for now, it will be enough to satisfy your curiosity. Especially, when he, seemingly with no effort, lifts you and prompts for your legs to wrap around his hips. It’s a bit of a mess with your heels clattering onto the pavement and the sudden jolt in your body provoking another whine from your mouth. Your head swings back, thankfully greeting Spider-Man’s soft palm rather than the brick wall.   


The sun is beaming onto the right side of your face and you bare your neck the other way in response. Scorching light bathes the city in warmth and smooths the harsh lines that make up the buildings and people. It also results in that scarlet blush painted on your upper chest to continuously amplify up your neck and down your breasts. 

A hoarse whisper of your name is uttered and, "One more — just one more."

His teeth lightly graze the flushed skin on your neck. 

This one comes quicker than the last, quickly followed by the masked man before you.

He leans forward, tilting his head toward yours until your foreheads make contact. The action is delicate. Sweet. 

A winded laugh leaves your laboured chest, allowing yourself a moment of silence with the figure in red and blue.

In turn, he cries softly and furrows his brows. He offers a crooked grin, holding you there for a brief time period, perhaps selfishly, until his arms begin to shake marginally; he slips out of you reluctantly, carefully returning you to your feet. A clothed hand tugs down your skirt, attempting to brush away the wrinkles in the dark material. 

A bashful smile graces your rosy cheeks at the tender gesture and you make a feeble effort to hide it in the crisp collar of your dress shirt. He turns away briefly and you lean heavily on the same wall you have been for the last half an hour to wobble towards your stray heels. You’re wiping your face and still adjusting the buttons on your shirt when you face each other again. 

"You okay?" His voice is somewhat muffled as a result of his mask being pulled back down, the rest of him reverted to the superhero that most people admire from afar. 

The corners of your lips lift in return, humming, "Yeah, all good."  


He clears his throat and nods awkwardly before offering his hand to you. "Home?"  


You take his hand and wrap the crossbody bag tightly around you.

"Home," You reaffirm.

(o-o)

There are stars. 

There are stars and the moon.

There are wondrous things and unbelievable phenomenons in the sky, yet all you can visualize is him.   


But you don’t even know his name. Or his fucking face. 

It has been two months since the beginning of this… _agreement_ the pair of you have going on and nothing has changed other than knowing how your bodies react to each other. So, you would like to believe that it’s understandable that you’re frustrated. More so when the courage you have festered over the last weeks simmers in a quick swoop at the sight of a man clad in latex, swinging towards you.  


You literally drop your pants in proximity, thighs squeezing tightly at the promises of purple bruises and scarlet bites.

Fuck it. Fuck it all.  


"What are you thinking about?"

"The…" You pause, gnawing at your bottom lip, "stars." 

He coughs a laugh. He’s looking at the sky above, his breath shallow from the activities mere minutes before. 

"That doesn’t sound very convincing."

The boy next to you lays less than a ruler away from you, atop the roof of your apartment. It’s not comfortable, to say the least, but it’s a nice temperature difference in contrast to the heat that radiates from your bodies.   


A beat passes. 

Your high is beginning to waver and the soreness between your legs has faded into the background to the point where your previous courage has funnelled into the back of your throat, threatening to spill.   


You turn to your side to stare at him. He does the same.

"Can I ask you something?"

His mask is pushed to the upper half of his face again and he leans upon his elbow, his chin in his palm.   


The red and blue figure answers. "Anything."

Your hands wrap around yourself protectively and you swallow the rock in your throat. 

"Do you ever think it’s… odd that I don’t even know your name? Or what you look like?" You spill. Your arms push up behind you to force your body in a sitting position, looping the itchy cardigan around you. "We’ve literally fucked for a couple of months now and I know _nothing_ about you."  


The mask that adorns his face can’t hide the small frown that pulls at his mouth.   


Your breathing stutters, your nails wringing the loose strand of your cardigan around your index finger. You can tell he’s thinking carefully about his words as he opens and closes his mouth. Spider-Man sits up, cross-legged beside you.  


He begins by extending a grim smile. 

"I know. I know and it’s not fair, especially to you." 

"So why—"

"I like you. A lot. And not just because of the sex," He blurts while he fingers the edge of his mask. "When we first met… I wasn’t me — well, I mean I was — but I was Spider-Man. Wait, I still am—"  


You place a comforting hand on his bicep. 

"Hey, take a breath," You gently urge.

He does as he’s told.   


"Sorry," He mumbles and shakes his head. 

"What I wanted to say was that when we met, I was in my… suit. I never thought, or intended, for this _thing—"_ he gestures between the two of you, "—to become what it is now. I don’t regret it or anything; I simply thought that you’d want to stop seeing me if I wasn’t Spider-Man. But I guess it doesn’t matter now."  


"What are you going on about?" You question, turning his shoulder to look him in the eye.

He swallows.   


"There’s… I mean— I’ve been leading you on for the past months and basically tricking you into being with me—"

" _Stop_. Listen to me. You did _not_ force or trick me into anything, alright? Everything I wanted to do with you, I, with a good conscience, consented to. And I liked it because I like _you._ "

You’re staring at him fiercely, holding onto his bicep. For someone who can swing from building to building with confidence, he’s struggling to maintain that same courage regarding you and your relationship.   


You need him to believe the words you’re saying.

He nods solemnly; he doesn’t trust you. 

So, you lace both of your hands together, shifting in front of him to mirror his sitting position. 

You whisper softly, "This _thing_ between us isn’t conventional or orthodox — not in the slightest. Though, it doesn’t mean it can’t be or that the feelings and desires I have for you are any less real. I…"  


A pair of your shaky hands slowly reach up to cup his sharp jaw. The gap between you decreases as you lean towards each other like magnets.

"Is this okay?" You murmur. 

The tender slot of his lips on yours is a pleasant answer, you think. 

A cheesy grin breaks on your face as you mould together into an achingly sweet dance with a boy who’s had an annoying vice-like grip on your mind. 

His hand travels to the back of your neck, tangling with the stray hairs from your ponytail. The other grips your bare knee and traces mindless circles on your smooth skin. It’s all smiles and quiet giggles amid lengthy kisses that have your breaths shallow and pulses racing.

Finally, you pull away hesitantly and keep your hands on the sides of his defined face. The end of his mask rests underneath the tips of your thumbs.

Before you can open your mouth, the Avenger declares, "It’s okay; I want you to see me."

Anticipation and excitement peaks in you if the expression on your face and the amused chuckle you hear is anything to confirm it. You nod happily.

Your light grip on his colourful mask painstakingly removes the fabric from his face. His eyes are closed, brows furrowed and curly hair messy. He is everything you’ve imagined and more.   


Brown eyes meet yours. And, _at last_ , there’s no silky material that creates a barrier between you two. You must have been admiring his face for too long when he disrupts your careful analysis.   


The left side of his pink mouth tugs upwards. 

"Hi, I’m Peter Parker. It’s nice to finally meet you."

A joyous laugh escapes your lips.   


"You as well, Peter Parker," you begin as you announce your name.  


The dark night and bright dots in the sky blanket the two of you, a light wind cooling your exposed skin. The traffic down below dwindles into background noise while the rest of the world stills. Rose-tinted cheeks, glassy eyes and fond smiles are engraved in this sacred memory of yours. You decide blinking lasts the better part of a lifetime if your eyes don’t stay glued to Peter.   


Peter. _Peter Parker._ _  
_

Love stories may not always begin like yours, but they do end like this. 

It’s Wednesday night at 1:12 am and you’re falling in love with a New York superhero who goes by the name _Peter_.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is my first p.p/marvel ff! hope you enjoyed and didn't find it too ooc (or at all) and didn't think it was too weird! please dont have sex with masked strangers that do not reveal their identity and face! even if its spiderman! love u. (p.s my word count doesn't match the one on my doc so ??? hopefully everything is okay)


End file.
